


Follyamory

by tsundbae



Series: Follyamory [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Humor, Multi, No Incest, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Porn With Plot, Reader-Insert, Sexual Content, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21611119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsundbae/pseuds/tsundbae
Summary: She’d heard rumors. Mostly comments made in jest about how the twins would do everything together if they could, even bedding girls. Both of them absolutely ravishing someone. Twice the groping, twice the kissing. Twice the pleasure.
Relationships: Fred Weasley/George Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Fred Weasley/George Weasley/Reader, Fred Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Fred Weasley/Reader, George Weasley/Original Female Character(s), George Weasley/Reader
Series: Follyamory [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596673
Comments: 37
Kudos: 1018





	Follyamory

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the midst of a Dramione fic but hit a roadblock. Out of my writing frustration *this* was born. 
> 
> This entire story was just sculpted around the fact that I wanted to write a Weasley twins double penetration fic lmao. I couldn't be assed to fully flesh out a proper OC, but I also think reader-inserts are jarring and break the immersion. So this is like a bastardization between the two. Sorry if all the "She" and "Her" gets repetitive. 
> 
> Thanks for checking it out, I appreciate you taking your time to read!
> 
> (The title is like a play on words of Folly and Polyamory and I think it's clever and I'm not sorry 😈)

It was a harmless prank. Quite simple, really. 

Some unsuspecting First Years would be dejectedly dismissed from yet another riveting Potions class, when a swarm of snakes would fall from the ceiling. 

No more, no less. 

And when Fred and George heard the thumping of soles on the stone, hollow footsteps echoing through the cold dungeons, the duo clenched tighter against the halls. Practically high with anticipation.

They heard the pop, then the heavy knotted mass hitting the floor with a thud. 

They heard the hissing slithering serpents trailing across the coarse cobble. 

But that was it. 

No shrieks. No hollers. 

The twins mirrored bafflement before ducking out from the alcove where they hid. Steps matching, they turned sharply to peer down the narrow staircase leaving the Potions classroom. 

There was _not_ a handful of horrified eleven-year-olds. Instead, there was just one student. _And she wasn’t even eleven!_

George thought she looked familiar. Fred knew her by her surname. She was a Ravenclaw in their own year. Though seemingly alongside paths that hardly converged. 

It had occurred to George that he had never before gotten a proper look at her. Because she was cute, and surely he would remember feeling like this if he had seen her before. Surely he’d notice eyes so sparkling and bright, hair so voluminous. Dare he say, she was even able to pull off the drab, boner-killing, figure-engulfing, school robes? 

She was standing in a puddle of snakes, some long and mottled beige, others shorter and sienna-hued. Narrow green ones, thick shiny onyx ones. They twisted and curled at her ankles, clumsily twirled over the edges of stairs, tumbled down the corridor. She eyed them curiously. 

“I never thought I'd be one of those suckers that gets caught in a Weasley prank.” She mused airily -- almost as if she didn’t intend for the twins to hear, “I thought they were supposed to be ... _funny?_ ”

She struck a nerve. Fred grimaced, George pulled out his wand. With a quick wave the snakes instantly disappeared. 

Fred sneered, “That prank _would_ have been funny! Humor doesn’t really translate well for the stone-hearted, I fear.” 

“I’m not stone-hearted.” She knitted her brows, “Quite the opposite. It’s cruel to use defenseless animals for your silly little jokes. And now, what? Two or three dozen snakes have been _Evanesco-_ ed into nonbeing for the sake of your foolish thrills?” 

Fred looked at George. George looked at Fred. This girl was not the first to call their ‘little jokes’ silly. And calling her reaction unexpected would be an understatement. But the twins had never heard someone so surly about the acquisition and _disposal_ of the means of the prank itself! Let alone someone daft enough as to tick off those wielding an arsenal of snakes.

The face Fred and George shared turned cock-eyed, a wide toothy grin. In tandem, they turned to gawp at her. 

“You take us as fools, Hawthorne?” Fred started closing the distance between the three of them, stopping at the top landing to stare down at the girl. Quite literally, looking down. 

“Those snakes _weren’t_ _vanished_. They were transported, thank you very much!” George filled the space beside his twin at the top of the stairs, beaming. Certainly feeling as if the Ravenclaw had been one-upped. They stood shoulder to shoulder, more or less blocking her path.

If the twins were trying to intimidate her, she paid no mind. More so, _putting on the ruse_ that they were trying to intimidate her. While no malice or actual intimidation was behind their behavior, their movements were so rehearsed, so natural. She was sure they had done this before. One would never call the Weasley twins bullies _,_ but it was no secret they enjoyed pushing the boundaries of a situation, nudging and prodding someone towards discomfort. It was a bond very few others would be able to understand. Someone always having your back, on your side. Going against them, you would always be outnumbered, two to one. 

She scrutinized the two of them, eyeing up and down one twin before moving to the other.

It was almost eerie. They stood tall, chests open, ginger hair falling in loose cascades onto the tops of their shoulders. Arms crossed, a lazy lopsided smirk on their faces. If one didn’t know better, it might seem as if they’ve practiced. Perhaps every morning before a mirror, working through a handful of poses to nail the identicality perfectly. 

She smiled at the thought. 

“Oh, so now you think it’s funny?” Fred took the first step of the staircase in tandem with George. 

Perfectly timed. How could they possibly know the other would take that step?

The door at the bottom of the stairwell opened, with it came the quick spilling of students. First Years trailed around the trio, shuffling to leave the dungeons with haste. A couple students muttered quick pardons as they nudged past. The Ravenclaw climbed up the rest of the stairs, Fred and George stepped aside as she parted between them. 

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” She said simply. 

\-- --

“You know her?” 

It was Friday supper. More delicious than any other supper of the week. Because it was Friday, which meant the next day would be Saturday. The meal that would fuel and nourish before a weekend rife with, well, anything besides classes. 

They had been talking about the Hogsmeade trip next weekend. There was a break in conversation while George reached across the table for the pumpkin juice pitcher. As he settled back into the bench, full goblet in hand, he dropped the question curtly. 

Fred didn’t look up from his plate, seemingly already aware of not only who George was talking about, but of how this conversation would play and where it would end. 

“Hawthorne? Not really. She was in my Herbology class last year.” Fred spoke through a bite of casserole, “And Charms. I think.”

“She couldn't have been. I was in your Charms last year.” George furrowed his brow.

Fred pursed his lips and shrugged, as if to say, _‘Are you really asking me to go through the mental gymnastics of recalling who was or wasn’t in our classes last year?’_

George wouldn’t and wasn’t asking that of him, so he didn’t press further. 

“Think she’s cute?” A beat passed before Fred asked, breaking the silence. 

“You don’t?” George shot his brother a puzzling stare. 

Fred cleared his throat dramatically, “ _‘Don’t put words in my mouth’_.” 

His imitation was shrill and amateur at best, but George stifled a chuckle regardless. 

Across at the Ravenclaw table, he saw Hawthorne idly picking at the steak and kidney pie in front of her. Perhaps feeling a gaze, she looked up, scanning the dining room before meeting George’s eye. A smile played at her lips while she brought her attention back to her plate. Her gaze flickered up once more, hesitant to be noticed. Surely if George wasn’t watching so intently he would have missed it. But as her cheeks began to blush and she furiously started working her fork through her pie, George laughed at the idea that she wasn’t as quick as she’d hoped.

  
  


\-- --

  
  
  


Miraculously enough, it was only a broken ankle. Right leg, fractured at the base of the tibia. 

From the stiff medical bed, a miserable burning lingering in the back of her throat from the Skele-Gro, she opened her eyes to watch a blurry late autumn sunset through the infirmary windows. 

Maybe if she was a Hufflepuff she would feel frustrated at how unjust this was. Her physical pain and discomfort due to yet another Weasley prank gone awry. And just as before, one that wasn’t even intended for her. 

Or if she was a Slytherin, she would be seething with plans of retaliation, insistent on vengeance towards the bumbling, careless Gryffindors. Devising how best to degrade and humiliate the twins by any means, to demonstrate true Hawthorne tenacity. 

Yet, she wasn’t. She wasn’t a Hufflepuff or Slytherin. She was not feeling indignant or hell-bent. 

Really, it was quite funny. Not humorous-funny. But funny in an abstract and absurd sort of way. One of those chafe little reminders that the universe owes you nothing. Even further, how the universe goes to extents to bring as much misfortune and inconvenience as allowed without breaking the fibers of existence _too much_. 

Bed-bound until morning, the rest of her Saturday evening would be spent trying not to feel too sorry for herself. She had intended to return some late library books, apologise deeply to Madam Pince and beg for her mercy, before taking mail to the owlery. 

Crossing through the paved courtyard, books in hand, the last thing she remembered was hearing some rabble behind her and turning to see the Slytherin Quidditch team returning from an afternoon practice. Then she was on her stomach, on the ground. The rest went with a tumultuous blur. She was being levitated out of the quad by Professor Flitwick, barking at the crowd of bystanders to get out of the way. Only after trying to move her foot, that she realized she couldn’t, and thanking the rush of endorphins and confusion that were probably the only things keeping her from feeling what should surely be incredible pain. From the corner of her eye, she was able to watch Fred and George Weasley being reprimanded by Professor McGonagall, furiously demanding they head straight to the Headmaster’s Office. She had never seen McGonagall so upset, as if the Professor had half a mind to punish the twins right there on the pavement. 

On a nearby stool sat her satchel, with a small stack of books gingerly sat atop the canvas. She was relieved to see them. Assumedly, they must have flung out of her hands as she fell.

Madam Pomfrey popped out from her office, relieved to see the young girl looking more coherent than before. 

“Hungry, Miss Hawthorne?” 

She thought quietly before shaking her head no. On top of the incredible soreness from the waist down, the throbbing in her forehead, and the queasiness in her stomach from the various potions and draughts -- no, she was not hungry. 

Pomfrey placed the supper on her bed tray. 

“You must eat. You can't take this potion on an empty stomach.” Madam Pomfrey said sternly, leaving a small glass vial besides the dinner. 

“What happened?” She croaked, her voice crackling. 

The matron went for the bedside table, where she poured a glass of water from a carafe before handing it to the girl.

“Those Weasley boys were up to no good again, is what happened.” Pomfrey frowned, “Eat. Rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.” 

Madam Pomfrey left swiftly, tutting about the twins under her breath as she turned to leave the hospital wing. 

Eyeing the saucer at the foot of her bed, some sort of bland soup, she tried to reach for her bag. Twisting her torso, arm extended out to try and reach a strap. Dragging almost half her upper body over the edge of the bed, stretching her fingers, scooting closer and closer. 

“Oi! Hang on, then! You’ll fall outta bed!” 

She spotted one of the Weasley twins hastily trot towards her. His long legs carried him easily across the hall. She winced as she tried to pull herself back into bed. Weasley grabbed her elbow to help her situate herself again against the pillows. 

“Thanks.” She muttered as Weasley moved to her bag, setting the books aside as he placed the satchel on her lap. 

“Pomfrey must really have you on the good stuff if you’re _thanking_ _me_.” He laughed, almost too casually. 

Digging through her school bag, she pushed aside textbooks and parchment before her fingertips grazed over what she was looking for. Pulling the small foil packet out, she unwrapped the Chocoball before taking a bite. 

“You risked breaking the other ankle for a piece of chocolate?” Weasley cracked a smile, “Well, seeing what they’re serving here, I don’t blame ‘ya.” 

“I wouldn’t break my ankle falling out of bed.” She rolled her eyes, “Only during crummy pranks.” 

The smile on Weasley’s face instantly disappeared. 

He sighed, “May I sit?” 

She nodded, but was surprised when the red haired boy took a seat at the edge of the bed, and not on the now-empty stool like she’d assumed he would. He was quick to make himself comfortable. It felt strangely intimate, yet she said nothing. 

“We do deeply apologise. Both of us. You weren’t the intended,” He paused, “Target. The Slytherin Quidditch team was.”

“Well what was supposed to happen?”

“We charmed a paving stone over a hole in the path. So when stepped on, the foot would just fall through.” He sighed.

“That’s it? You were going to trip them?” The Ravenclaw said with a guffaw, popping the rest of the chocolate into her mouth. 

Weasley feigned annoyance, “Someone would step through into the hole, then the stone would reappear and form around his leg -- sealing him into the ground. It’d keep him trapped in place while we commenced phase two.”

“Then why did _I_ fall?” She creased her brow.

“Well, _I_ was insistent that you were going to step on the stone and wanted to cast the counter-charm. My brother was certain you’d miss the stone, he said he was counting your steps. But you looked behind you and your step faltered. We cast the counter-charm but that’s when you shifted forward and twisted your ankle. In hindsight I see we should have just let you get trapped in the pavement.” The twin said with a grimace, spotting the tight bandages wrapping her ankle. 

“Where is he?” She asked, “Your brother.” 

“Oh. Great Hall. Wanted to eat with Angelina one last time. He is sorry though, I swear.” 

“What do you mean, ‘last time’?” 

“We haven’t been punished yet. Figure McGonagall and Dumbledore are up in his office penning mum. I’ve never seen McGonagall so livid. Our intention is causing frenzy and disorder, but never pain. Not when it’s undeserved, at least.” 

All the implications hung heavily in the air. They sat in silence. She fiddled with her fingers, picking her cuticles as she stared at the profile of him. Weasley didn’t seem nervous, maybe a little weary, but not at all panic-stricken. Not like she would be if her parents were about to receive an owl regarding their child breaking another student’s leg. If she were about to be sentenced to detention for the rest of her life. Maybe even expelled? Fred and George have quite the track record, perhaps this would be the breaking point.

It was then that she realized she had no idea which twin he was. If she was more familiar with Gryffindor gossip, she might know which one fancied Angelina. She had previously thought that George’s hair was a little tamer; Fred’s eyes were a little sharper. But the hospital was growing dark, his features were barely illuminated by the candle sconces throughout the infirmary. 

“George?” 

It was a guess. She’s like to think that she used some sort of deductive reasoning. But it would be a fifty-fifty chance no matter what. If she said it with enough confidence though, maybe it would be right. Maybe she could convince him which twin he was. 

He looked over at her, his expression particularly blank. He said nothing, as if waiting for her to speak. So she continued. 

“Will you do me a favor? The library doesn’t close until eight. Can you return my books?”

George let out a snort before nodding, standing and fetching the stack of books from the end table. 

“Goodnight, Hawthorne.” 

She watched as the twin walked out of the infirmary, his tall figure throwing slender shadows across the walls. With her stomach now stuffed from the Chocoball and all it's nourishing health properties, she downed the vial Pomfrey had left. Looked to be a pain relieving potion. She’d need her strength to make the long journey to the Headmaster’s Office. 

  
  
  


\-- --

  
  
  


Madam Pomfrey tsked all morning but finally agreed to her discharge midway through the afternoon. While her right ankle was still sore, the swelling had gone down and the pain was localized to just the joint atop her foot. After traversing all the stairs to finally get to the Ravenclaw tower, she rewarded herself with a hot shower before tackling even more stairs on the way to the Owlery, only to cross the castle to finish some assignments before the library closed. While she was certain George Weasley would make good on his agreement to drop off her books, she was still particularly pleased when Madam Pince said her record was cleared.

Come dinner she was starving.

A glance was cast her way occasionally as she meandered to the Ravenclaw table, ecstatic to tuck into her first proper meal in what felt like ages. Glances from those who had heard what happened in the courtyard and were looking for external damage. She ignored the stares. Ravenclaws were good at that. 

She grabbed slices of roast beef, a big spoon of roasted potatoes, two yorkshire puddings, and covered the whole plate in brown gravy. The hall hadn’t filled yet, which meant the Ravenclaw table had a number of empty seats. Enough seats that two red-headed twins had been able to effortlessly plop into the bench across from her. 

“Hawthorne.” They both said. 

“Weasleys.” She returned. 

“So. What do we owe ya?” The twin on the left sighed, propping his elbows on the table. 

“Surely you’d want something after what you’ve done for us.” The twin on the right continued. 

“We’re even.” She said simply, cutting her roast beef into small pieces.

“Even?” The twins shared a mystified smile. 

“George took back my library books yesterday.” 

The brother on the left turned, blatantly impressed. The other shrugged effortlessly, throwing his hands up for effect -- that must be George. 

Studying them both with intent, she decided she wanted to be able to differentiate the two. Fred had better posture. George had a kinder smile. She darted between them quickly, her eyeballs knocking around her skull. 

“You save our poor misguided souls from the icy grip of McGonagall damnation, but we’re even because Georgie here returned your books?” Fred clearly amused. 

She shrugged, tearing her yorkshire pudding into pieces. 

“Come on, Hawthorne. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. The one and only Weasley twins at your service. Prim and proper and ready to please.” insisted Fred. 

“I’ll save it for a rainy day.” 

This seemed to sate them as they both shared a look before standing up to leave for the Gryffindor table. Their synchronization was broken though, when George peeked over his shoulder briefly and caught her staring. He winked before turning back. 

  
  
  


\-- --

  
  
  


The Weasleys had detention for two months. Hogsmeade privileges revoked alongside it. So she truly was surprised when the candy started appearing. 

When the first Chocoball fell into her lap with the daily post, she eyed it suspiciously. But when she saw George across the Great Hall poorly trying to conceal a smirk, she felt a warmth grow inside her belly and a flutter in her chest. The next week, it was a packet of sugar quills, the week following a box of chocolate cauldrons. 

In between these gifts, she and George would sneak cheeky grins and quick glances through the corridors in between classes or during meals. The Ravenclaw was in six NEWT level classes, none of which were shared with either of the Weasleys. After a month or so of these little packages, the twins started to pop up during her day. Catching her during her free periods and bumping into her as she was leaving the library. While some days their presence was a bit overpowering, and she felt herself a little overwhelmed and frazzled, more often than not she thought them endearing. They were generous and friendly. Funny, without a doubt. Insightful, often considerate. Much more intelligent than they’d like to let on.

Admittedly it did feel a little odd fancying only one of them. While they did more often than not come in a sort of package deal, surely nobody could expect the twins to do _everything_ together. In reality, they had as many differences as they did similarities. Fred was quick to instigate. George was first to sympathize. Fred was headstrong. As was George, but Fred was unapologetically so. George was more patient. Fred always needed to have the last word, and usually the first word too. George had better timing. 

  
  
  


\-- --

  
  
  


It was the last Monday of November when she stopped receiving mail. The rest of the week passed by without a single parcel. While it was unfair to assume she’d be getting treats for the rest of her life, it still came with a little disappointment. Not that she was missing the sweets, but that George had stopped thinking of her. Maybe another girl was getting these illicit gifts. 

Perhaps he had thought they were even now. Or that he was feeling unappreciated that she never expressed gratitude. But, George never mentioned it when they talked in person so she simply followed his lead and didn’t mention it either.

It wasn’t until Friday when George, only George, marched across the Great Hall and sat beside her at lunch. Her nearby tablemates eyed George warily, but said nothing. Perhaps her friends had also noticed the stolen glances between the two with the bombardment of gifts and figured George was the culprit. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Weasley?” 

“It’s been two months, Hawthorne.” George waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“ _Two months?_ Has it now?” She played along. 

“My last detention was Sunday,” He pressed, “I’m a free man.”

“Congratulations, George.” 

“I’d like to ask you to Hogsmeade.” Weasley said with a flashy grin. 

The Ravenclaw fought a blush, her lips in a tight line to hide the massive smile threatening to break free. 

“I figure you can pick out what sweets you’d like yourself,” continued George.

“I’d like that.” She finally admitted. 

“Tomorrow then, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She was all but beaming. 

  
  


\-- --

  
  


Fred never dared to play a prank on George’s girlfriend. Sure, they could share some fiery banter and she could hold her own against their teasing jokes. But the twins were not foolish enough to risk breaking anymore of her bones. 

Up until a point, that was. 

It was early March. Gryffindor had won a Quidditch match against Slytherin and the school was alight with excitement. And while Ravenclaw had not played, that now put Slytherin last and least likely to win the Quidditch Cup come spring -- and that alone was worth celebrating. The party was held in the Gryffindor tower, of course, yet Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were as ecstatic as their lion friends. The common room had been roaring with singing and cheers, the radio tried desperately to compete to be heard. With butterbeer plenty, even bottles of firewhiskey present, it was just after midnight when things started to settle down and visitors retreated to their own houses. 

“Let me walk you to your tower, love.” George appeared, snaking a long arm behind her back, resting his hand on her hip. 

And with that, the drunk Ravenclaw stumbled, tripping through the Gryffindor portrait hole while George moved quickly to bring her back upright. 

“Drunk’s not a good look on you.” Fred laughed, appearing to her other side, slinging her arm over his shoulder to prop her up.

“I’m not drunk.” She slurred, convincing nobody, unfortunately. 

The trio shuffled quietly through the corridors until her nominal attempt at a whisper broke the silence.

“Did you guys have fun?” She more or less shouted. 

“Shh.” The twin on her left uttered gently, “Not as much as you did.” 

The twin on her right grumbled, shifting under her weight, uncomfortable with how his shoulders have been hunched over, “I can’t keep going like this. Here, get on my back.”

Weasley stopped, bringing himself down to a height where she could climb on. 

She looked down at him, a lazy grin on her face. His hair was particularly tousled tonight, maybe having been mussed through the chaos of the party. She was startled to see he was a little annoyed. This was not the first time she’d been escorted to her tower after a night of firewhiskey, why would he be annoyed? 

Yet, the Weasley standing upright beside her -- his face was placating. Waiting for her to get on his brother’s back, a rather plain and unassuming expression. Normally she was so confident telling them apart. She rarely mistook one for the other. But the lilt of the crouched twin seemed a little off color, it struck her with a sense of harshness that George never spoke to her with. 

And yet this evening she was drunk and tired and not particularly concerned with being sure. Certainly, that was her boyfriend offering to carry her to bed. She ungracefully settled herself on his back while she threw her arms around his neck and his hands went around to rest against the backs of her thighs. 

He smelled different. Did he start using a different soap? Or maybe a different deodorant? It was still pleasant, but how long had it gone unnoticed? Bringing one hand to flick his long hair out of the way, she burrowed her nose against the now opened column of skin. Like cloves and parchment and washing up liquid. She placed multiple quick kisses against his cold flesh. Her lids grew heavier and heavier until she eventually closed them, sinking deeper into his back. 

“Oi! George!” Fred called to his brother up ahead. 

“What?” George responded back in a hushed tone. 

“Your girlfriend was mackin’ on my neck!” Fred whispered back sharply.

George stopped and turned around, eyes wide. She'd fallen asleep, head nuzzled against his neck, lips parted against the skin at the base of this throat.

“Why would she do that?” George pondered quietly, standing there blankly while Fred continued trudging past. 

“Just letting you know before she tries to take off my jumper. Come now, Georgie. We’re nearly there.” 

  
  
  


\-- --

  
  
  


The next morning she was no worse for wear. Nothing a tall glass of water and hearty breakfast couldn’t help. Taking her seat, she fixed a plate of fried eggs and bacon while the twins made their way across the Great Hall and dropped into the bench across from her.

She eyed them strangely. They were both wearing red jumpers and dark trousers. Red and gold Gryffindor scarves. Gray beanies. They rarely dressed the same anymore, even during the school week one would intentionally untuck their Oxford or forgo their school vest for the sake of a little distinction. 

“Morning.” They both chirped. 

A chill ran down her spine as she shifted in her seat.

“Good morning.” 

They must have been up early preening as they were particularly identical today. Down to the way they rested their hands on the dining table. Searching their faces for a break, a shimmer in their eyes. Fred and George matched her intent stare with ones of their own. Daring, practically begging her to address one of them. 

“Did you boys sleep well?” She asked her plate of breakfast.

“Ah, slept like a rock. How ‘bout you, George?” 

“Very much the same, Fred.” 

Her eyes went wide as she pressed her lips tight. They were testing her. Surely, this was a trick. George had addressed Fred as if _he_ was Fred, but really he was George. Which meant the other was Fred. Unless they thought she would figure that out, so really they were who they were, but just trying to bait her to throw her off. Unless, they thought she’d figure _that out_ too! 

Pulling up again to focus at them. One twin stared at her deeply. Longingly. Willing her to name him. The other had a very satisfied glimmer, as if he was certain she’d be able to figure it out, completely, undeniably trusting. 

Reaching for a slice of toast, buttering it while she spoke, “I apologise for last night, it wasn’t my intention to drink so much.” 

“Don’t mention it, love. Looked like you had fun.” The Weasley on the left reached out to take the toast from her. 

“George!” She whined as he took a bite. 

They both surveyed her with eyebrows raised high, the edge of their mouths quivered.

“I’m Fred, _that’s_ George.” He chewed through a smirk.

“No, you’re George. I know my boyfriend.” She insisted, snatching the toast back from his hand. 

Maybe it was the way her voice wavered. Or how she didn’t meet either of their eyes. But she was still able to see the quick look they exchanged before the _other twin_ moved to kiss her cheek. 

“Come by the common room tonight, love.” He said quietly. 

They were having her on. She was certain of it. 

  
  


\-- --

  
  


Stepping through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room, it was scattered with students who had procrastinated their assignments for the end of the weekend. It was after supper, most had filed off to their dorms. She had recognized Lee Jordan sitting beside George on a loveseat, while Fred sat in a wingback chair across from them. The twins had shed their hats and scarves, yet still donned the matching jumper and trousers. Approaching them, Fred stood to greet her. 

Saying nothing, but eyeing him warily, she complied as he threw an arm across her shoulder and brought her over to a tufted couch. The couch was adjacent to Jordan and George, the boys all glanced around expectantly. 

“Right then,” George slapped the tops of his thighs, “I think it’s time we got on, don’cha think, Lee?”

“Definitely. Goodnight, all.” said Jordan, standing up after George; the two of them strode off. Seeing their hasty departure, her mouth slightly agape, she turned back to Fred. 

“How was your day?” Fred smiled, bringing a hand to rub at her bare knee.

“What’s going on?” Looking down at his hand she jolted at his touch.

“What’ya mean? Can’t a bloke spend time with his girlfriend?” He said, furrowing his brow. 

“I’m not your girlfriend!”

Fred’s face slackened, “Are you breaking up with me?” 

“Fred, we aren’t dating!”

Weasley sat up from his relaxed slouch on the couch, now sitting ramrod straight. 

“You think I’m Fred?” He scoffed, narrowing his eyes. 

Damn if the twins weren’t throwing her for a real loop.

It dawned on her, his face the perfect representation of frustrated disbelief, that Fred really was a marvelous actor. A smidge more convincing than George. George was better at maintaining his composure but Fred was able to put more emotion behind his words. 

Their backs were to the rest of the common room, they faced the fireplace against the wall. She watched as the dim common room slowly started to empty. Out of the corner of her eye she could see just a handful of remaining students dotted between tables and sofas. The fire was dying, the embers sinking deeper into powdery ash. His expression was carved with dark shadows, the soft light raking over him. Slitted lids, a stern frown, a taut cord in his jaw. 

This morning left her feeling uneased. He did truly seem aggravated. Could anyone be that good of an actor? While she trusted her decision, their behavior was sudden and unexplained. But what were they trying to prove? The two frequently made jokes how even their own family stumbled to tell them apart! She felt perfectly adequate in her ability to identify them.

The twin’s bond was different, that was obvious. Very few would be able to understand it. She didn’t understand it entirely herself. After years of growing up side by side, experiencing the same things through different eyes -- it resulted in a pair of humans that complimented each other perfectly. One gave, the other took. One picked up where the other slacked off. They started together and stopped together. The twins finished each other's sentences because they knew what the other was going to say long before he’d even started saying it.

She flickered over his miffed posture to spot his neck. 

While she had grown to differentiate the two to her own satisfaction, on some days when their frequencies were a little offbeat or maybe one twin was feeling subpar, her secret weapon was George. George had a mole on his neck. Beneath his left ear, alongside his jaw, a dark beauty mark that served as her beacon. She didn’t like looking for it. It felt like cheating. It reminded her of the gaudy knitted sweaters they used to wear with a big ‘F’ or ‘G’ on the front. To aid those who couldn't be bothered to look past the fiery red hair and tall paleness for their differences underneath. 

His hair hung in gentle waves around his ears. Smooth skin, completely unmarred. No mole or freckle in sight.

This was evidently, indisputably Fred. 

She inhaled slowly, exhaled loudly. 

“So, you both take me for an idiot?” She announced through pursed lips.

His jaw slackened and she watched as he glanced over her shoulder. It was just a second. Half a second. She almost didn’t notice it. Had she blinked at that exact moment she would have missed it. 

Twisting her neck to check behind her, she saw Lee Jordan at the other end of the common room. Sitting on a squashy ottoman beside the portrait hole doing, what would have been, an impeccable job of hiding in the deep shadows of the room. He grimaced and sank low into the seat, head tucked between his shoulders. Lee hadn't gone to bed, he was on lookout duty!

“You do think I’m an idiot!” She exclaimed, “What kind of ridiculous little joke is this now? George needs me to prove myself, then? I’m not a proper girlfriend unless I can see through these silly tests?” 

“Listen, George has been losin’ his shit over last night!” 

“What happened last night?”

Fred continued, ignoring her, “I was the one who had to hear him whinging all day how you ‘were going to be _the one_ ’ and you ‘could always tell us apart,’ Bloke was insufferable!” 

Her stomach tightened into knots. While she didn't have an exactly concrete recollection of every encounter she had with the boys last night, it was obvious to her now that she had mistaken one for the other at some point. Horribly mistaken. 

_The piggyback ride!_ Mentally slapping herself, wishing she had trusted her intuition! Wishing she had slowed down in the moment. Cringing while she remembered how she kissed his neck, felt his skin. 

She didn’t know George thought of her that way. It infuriated her that George felt this disastrous insecurity but instead of mentioning it and the two of them working through it with open communication, he went to his brother. George went to Fred so they could concoct a scheme to ease his conscious. How typical. 

She stood up, “Let’s go, then.”

“Go where?” Fred gaped at her, stunned. 

“To bed, Georgie.” She simpered, tilting her head to one side. 

A look of mischief fell on Fred’s face as she brought her hand to his torso, drumming her fingers against his chest playfully. 

“You want me to double-cross my own flesh and blood?” Fred was exuberant, “Didn’t know you had it in you, Hawthorne.”

“Come on.” She grabbed his hand to drag him across the common room. 

“Change of plans, it seems.” Fred told Lee Jordan as they passed him.

"You're a traitor but I can't say I wouldn't do the same!" Jordan called out behind them as they climbed up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory. 

Fred opened the door first. The room was particularly messy tonight. Half completed assignments, empty potion vials, discarded sweets wrappers peeped out from under beds. Parcels and torn joke packaging strewn over surfaces. Trunks half-opened and spilling clothes onto the floor. Maybe since George wasn’t expecting company tonight he didn’t tidy. 

George’s back was to the door. He was rifling through a stack of mail order forms, sat at the desk, before turning at the sound. His eyes grew wide in trepidation. 

“Goodnight, Fred.” She smiled, crossing the room before taking a seat on George’s bed. 

Fred followed, drawing the drapes around them. They both noticed George’s face before the hangings were shut. Confusion. Surprise. Vaguely distraught that his bed had been taken. 

Crossing their legs beneath them, they both sat facing each other, sharing a big cheeky grin.

While these particular circumstances were a first, she was no stranger to this bed. Usually her and George had a bit more consideration than to waltz through the middle of the dorm at ten o’clock. That would be much too blatant of their intentions. She preferred to wait until Fred and Lee were already in bed, their curtains drawn and it’s occupants asleep. And she’d always sneak out first thing in the morning. Though the boys were not by any means early-risers it was embarrassing enough trying to have sex with your boyfriend while in denial of his best friend and brother less than twenty feet away; she wouldn’t risk the chance of pulling back the curtains and coming face to face with anyone while she commenced her morning walk of shame. 

It was a precarious situation George was in. How committed was he, to this prank? And how committed did he think Fred would be? Obviously Fred was determined enough to bring her back to their bedroom. If he _really was_ George, there would be nothing unusual with his girlfriend coming up to his bed -- he was just playing the role he was asked to fulfill. But where would Fred draw the line? A snog? A grope? Fred was always the first to take the risk, to push the boundary. At times Fred could even be mistaken as mean-spirited, should George not be there to reel him back in or soothe the commotion over. 

Fred pressed his index finger to his lips, taking off his jumper and throwing it onto the floor so it would be visible from under the hangings. She grinned at this idea, matching it by unlacing her shoes and chucking them noisily. Fred undid his belt, dropping the strip of leather to clatter on the hardwood. 

They heard the legs of a chair scuttle across the floor, then socked-feet gingerly padding across the room. George started to shift, pacing back and forth as if trying to find a weakness in the heavy red fabric. 

Grabbing Fred’s hand, she brought it to place in front of his eyes. He quickly brought his other hand to tightly seal off his vision. She turned her back towards Fred, not entirely trusting that he wouldn’t peek, as she moved swiftly to unfasten her bra from under her top. She made quick work of it, before pulling the blouse back into place. The bra was sheer with a deep plunge, a deep maroon color. Behind her, Fred was peeping through a slit in his fingers.

She pulled his hands off his face, Fred beamed at her dedication to go the extra step for this joke. She tucked the bundle of lace in his hands, trusting the seasoned Quidditch player’s aim over her own. Fred wadded the fabric up before flinging it artfully over the top of the drape railing. 

Taking in Fred’s shirtlessness she noticed Fred was more toned than George. His shoulders a little broader. His chest more defined. His hip bones were sharp, jutting out of the trousers hanging loosely on his hips. Light hair grazing down from his belly button, dipping into the hem of a pair of dark green boxers. 

Her blouse was a delicate pale material, and her skirt had ridden up to the middle of her thighs. Had she looked down she would have noticed that her breasts were entirely visible through the thin fabric. The supple curve of each defined by the silky top. Nipples practically unmistakeable. Fred noticed. And he had a hard time maintaining eye-contact. 

Yet another difference, Fred was more reckless. 

He moved to take off his trousers. Slowly. Deliberately. Fred dropped the pants alongside the edge of the bed. Never one to back down from a stand-off, she matched him. She shimmied the skirt off, pulling it down her thighs and letting it slip off her ankles to pool onto the floor. Her knickers were matching. Luxurious maroon, lace alongside the hems and across the front. They were riding up her bum, exposing the bottom of her cheeks.

Contained inside his boxers, was not quite hard, but noticeable regardless. Dare she say, Fred was bigger than George?

They stilled, ears perked for movement in the dorm -- but heard nothing. 

“I think George left.” She whispered. 

“I can’t hear him anymore.” replied Fred. 

Their actions were now for naught, it’s intended victim was no longer privy to its conclusion. Fred was out of clothes anyway. Fred plopped back onto the bed, resting against the headboard. He patted the spot beside him. Their secret double-agent prank taking backseat to the reality of the situation. The unmistakeable haze of hormones seemed to be making its appearance, as the idea of laying down half naked was now hard to resist.

The problem with standard-issue Hogwarts beds was that they were twin-sized mattresses. That didn’t leave very much room for modesty. And while she had intended to leave some space between them as she crawled up to settle beside Fred Weasley, she also had no desire to fall off the edge. Resulting in some skin-to-skin contact. Her shoulder bumping into his chest, and her hip brushing his thigh -- to be exact. 

The touch startled both of them. Fred rolled onto his side, as did she. The two faced each other, staring hopelessly with no idea how things had gotten this far. 

As she swallowed thickly, as if the loudest thing in the bedroom. She wondered if he could hear her heartbeat. It had grown so loud in her ears, the thumping hard against the inside of her ribcage. 

A second of weakness, she cast her gaze down as she saw Fred’s growing member, stretching the elastic material over his groin. She looked back up to see Fred watching her. 

“George wouldn’t like this.” She admitted.

Fred was distant, his half-lidded stare boring into her. He licked his lips.

“I’m supposed to be George, remember?” He answered huskily, “For tonight.”

He brought a hand out to rest on her hip, testing. She did nothing, returning his deep gaze. He continued, moving to carefully push her shirt up, dipping his fingers into her skin. 

Fred’s hands were calloused. Rougher than George’s. 

Fred dragged them up her side, coming to her below her ribcage, before sliding them back down and stopping at her hips. 

Her heart thrummed at the touch, tingling at the trail he left over her body. 

Pausing again, another test. 

She couldn’t. She loved George. 

Bolting to sit upright, she threw the curtains apart. 

“Hawthorne.” Fred huffed. 

The room was empty. 

She moved to grab her skirt, shimmying it back on. 

_“Hawthorne, wait.”_

Ignoring him, she dashed across the room and flung open the dorm door. The hallway was dark, most students having made their way to bed. Stepping out to head down the stairwell, she saw George was on his way up. 

“George, you left!”

“Went to look for Lee. So, you figured it out?” said George. 

It was hard to read his expression. He didn’t seem frustrated. Or disappointed. Why would he? He had no idea what had occurred just then with Fred. 

A door across the hall opened, as a sleepy Fifth Year Gryffindor eyed them curiously, before passing by and moving to the stairs. She wasn’t supposed to be so far from the Ravenclaw tower, especially not this late, and _especially not_ in a boy’s dormitory. 

“Come now,” He said, herding her back into his room. 

She was grateful to see Fred was fully dressed, sitting casually on the edge of his own bed. No tent in his pants. 

“That was a good bit there, taking your clothes off to act like you were shagging.” George admitted sheepishly with a breathy laugh. 

“Wasn’t a bit,” Fred waggled his brows, “She comes quick.” 

She winced at the joke, confounded with their discussing her sexually in such a casual behavior, so blatantly. George laughed, giving Fred an exaggerated _‘If only you knew’_ sort of look. 

“Knock it off, you gits.” She barked at the pair.

“You bagged a smart one, Georgie. Didn’t believe I was you for a second.” Fred admitted.

“I can always tell you two apart.” She said, moving to sit on George’s bed. 

“Couldn’t last night.” Fred and George both quipped. 

She frowned, “It was an honest accident. I was piss drunk. I’d never act like that with Fred.” 

“Ouch.” Fred clutched his chest dramatically. She gave him a stern glance.

George took a seat on his bed, settling down beside her. 

“That’s all?” asked George, “Only because you were drunk?” 

“Have I ever gotten you two wrong before?” 

“You didn’t seem that sure at breakfast.” Fred interjected. 

“You two were trying to trip me up!” She cried. 

“Fair.” said George. 

  
Fred moved to sit forward, resting his hands on his knees as he leaned towards them, “And exactly _why_ would you never act like that with me? I have feelings, Hawthorne!”

She scoffed, turning to George expectantly. To her astonishment, he said nothing. Her honor was on the line here! She swatted at his chest. He looked at her defiantly. 

“Well?” George urged, “Answer the man.”

This was unbelievable. She couldn’t say why she liked George over Fred. Right in front of him, no less! 

“You can’t possibly expect me to answer that.” She choked.

“‘Course not, Hawthorne. You don’t have to answer, I already know it! The way you licked and nibbled all up my neck. It’s quite inconsiderate of you, really. Having felt that way and not saying anything sooner.” Fred went on, tartly, an edge of mock accusation in his voice. 

Her jaw dropped. She stared over at George yet again, who offered no consolation while his brother made such absurd claims. A heat climbed from her stomach up to her face, suddenly surging with vexation. 

“George.” She chided. 

An unsettling waver in his eye, he bit his lip nervously as he scanned her face, taking in her obvious annoyance. 

“Just drop it, Fred. She’s not into it.” George finally sighed. 

Like an instant ignition, her irritation multiplied. Now ablaze with a startling bewilderment. This was another prank? What possible humor could they find by undermining her and George’s relationship? Making crass, tasteless statements about what she’d already insisted was a mistake, they found funny? 

“Not into what?” She demanded. 

Fred and George shared a look. A Fred and George look. They spoke through barely-there eyebrow quivers and pupil flickers. An entire conversation starting and stopping through the manner of a few brow waggles. 

“You’ll just get upset.” George hinted. 

“More upset than you already are, anyway.” Fred added with a toss of his shoulders. 

“I’ll get upset? Upset over what, admitting the truth? You want me to admit that I find you attractive, Fred? You’re the identical twin to my boyfriend, of course I find you attractive! I don’t _fancy_ _you_ , if that’s what you’re getting on about. I think you’re abrasive and arrogant!” She unapologetically spat, “It’s one thing to sneak around planting whizz-bangs or stink pellets or hexing First Years, but joking about our relationship is another!” 

At some point during her outburst she had stood up, balling her fists at her side. Fred was not offended or dazed. In fact, she could swear the corner of his mouth twitched with the threat of a smile. The air hung thickly, stinging with tension.

“So you do think I’m attractive.” Fred smirked. 

“Fred, she’s not into it.” George repeated, a sharp warning to his tone. 

“For fuck’s sake, not into what?!” She snapped.

“The idea of shagging me.” Fred announced suddenly. 

Like she’d been doused with a bucket of cold water, her face fell, anger washed off her body to drip out of the room. They both stared at her. Not a smirk on either face, no chuckle or mischievous glint. Fred still sitting on his bed, his long legs sprawled across the rug -- ankles loosely crossed. He was leaning back as his palms propped him up off the bed. Feigning a casual lean, but his face looked sheepish. She seldom saw Fred embarrassed. Was she not so surprised, she would say it was a charming sight. 

“You want me to sleep with Fred?” The words fell clumsily off her tongue. 

“Not exactly.” George chewed his bottom lip, “Sleep with both of us.” 

“At the same time.” Fred added. 

She’d heard rumors. Mostly it was comments made in jest about how the twins would do everything together if they could, even bedding girls. The last time she’d thought of it was during Fifth Year, in History of Magic; she’d heard Spinnet and Fawcett giggling behind her. Alicia revealed that Angelina Johnson had spent the night with the twins. _Both of them._ And how they absolutely ravished her, twice the groping, twice the kissing. Twice the pleasure. 

While the Ravenclaw was by no means prudent, this had never exactly been proposed to her before. George was good in bed. Generous and kind, vocal and concerned about ensuring all acts were pleasurable, all parties were consenting. He had buggered her once before, at his request. It was strange. An incredible fullness, a visceral sensation of being stretched. Had he not been rubbing her clit, she wasn’t sure if she could consider it explicitly enjoyable. She liked it because George liked it. He came quickly, thankfully, and made sure to voice that he appreciated her willingness to explore new things. 

And try new things they did. Sometimes George would have a project he’d ask for help with working the kinks out, usually on nights where they were both feeling adventurous and frisky. 

The last involved a creamy violet colored potion, after drinking it her senses heightened tenfold. Colors were so blindingly vibrant, she had to ask him to dim the lights. The sound of his breath in her ear was like thunder. His touch was searing, his mouth felt like two impeccably soft petals dropping molten hot kisses on her skin. The chills were almost painful when his lips dropped between her thighs. She had come within minutes, her body borderline convulsing underneath him. 

Before that, a self-tying silk rope that was charmed to obey triggers that were pre-determined by a couple, and loosened with a designated safeword. He bound her hands behind her back and whenever she fussed how she wanted to touch him, they got tighter.

The twins weren’t particularly jealous types. Maybe sarcastically, but they thought themselves too highly to genuinely consider anything worth being jealous over. Her concern was not between herself and George. But with Fred. Beyond the exact intricacies of the physicality, her concern lied in afterwards. Having to face Fred tomorrow, after revealing such intimacies with him. Her naked body, her untidy moans. Her face when she orgasmed. Having to relinquish herself enough to even be able to orgasm, to relax and give over control. 

“Have you done this before?” She asked, aware of how meek she sounded. 

“Would you feel more comfortable if we said yes?” said Fred, a smile toying his lips.

“Or we can say no. Whichever you’d like.” George was hesitant to grin, but she could see he wanted to. 

“What about after?” Ignoring their lack of answers, she pressed on. 

“Well it’s almost midnight. You can sleep here if you’d like, but Jordan will probably be up in a bit. You’ll have to get to your tower before morning though to grab your school bag. You’ve Potions tomorrow morning, don’t ‘ya?” Fred jested. 

“Nah, she’s got Alchemy.” George quipped. 

“ _Alchemy?_ ” Fred’s eyes went wide, “Proper class for a Ravenclaw, ‘innit?” 

“I love walking her to class Monday mornings." George joked. 

“You ever walk by the third tower on a Wednesday afternoon? Advanced Arithmancy Studies! A real lot of swots, in their natural environment.” Fred continued.

" _Have I walked by the third tower!"_ George rolled his eyes, "You underestimate me, Freddie, I-" 

Their bickering was as resounding of an answer as she’d get. It was Fred and George, afterall. Neither of them would let their respective relationships be ruined by any lingering awkwardness or embarrassment, and she knew that without a second guess. 

"Okay." She interrupted. 

They halted, eyeing her strangely. 

"Okay?" The twins repeated. 

"Okay!" She urged, again. 

Fred and George shared a look.

"Come, love." George murmured quietly, holding his arms out for her to walk into. 

She toddled into them slowly, letting him pull her into his lap as they sat atop the bed. 

"Get her warmed up for me," Fred said in a sing-song tone. 

She snapped her head to shoot a foul glare behind her, but George's hand caught her chin and pulled her back to face him. 

"Easy now," He placed a soft kiss to her lips, "He’s just joking." 

George kissed enthusiastically. Starting off slow and sweet before moving to deep and passionate. Tonight was no different. 

A tender kiss, their lips moved in practiced tandem to envelop the other's. George was the first to part his lips, a furtive peace offering. She took it confidently, moving in to swipe at his front teeth with her tongue. 

The kiss deepened, a hand came to rest on her back, another at her neck. Her hands went around to grab the back of his shoulders. Their tongues slipped against each other, rubbing and prodding. 

Pulling apart, George started to remove her blouse. She was braless. And suddenly very cold. George ran his hands up and down her sides, occasionally bringing them to run along her spine. Such big hands. They made her feel so delicate, so dainty. They were hot, leaving her skin warmer in their wake. 

"You're so beautiful. Just perfect." George breathed. 

Finally, one hand went to her breast. He cupped the flesh, the handful soft in his palm. She let out a breathy sigh as she dipped her head back. Her hands went to interlace behind his neck, tucked underneath his long ginger hair. 

He started thumbing over the nubbly peak, as his mouth went to her neck. 

"You should go braless more often." He mumbled into her collarbones.

Licking and nibbling up her throat, dropping kisses on her jawline and behind her ear. She groaned as she felt him pinch the nipple. He brought his head down to take a breast in his mouth, while his hand went to the other. Licking softly at the tip, she felt her breath stifle as he rolled the opposing nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

George alternated between soft biting and suckling, stimulating the sensitive ends. He took the other breast in his mouth, his hands trailing down her sides and belly. Flipping the fabric of her skirt up, he brought his hands to her hips, laying atop her knickers. An index finger went to swipe over her mound, she shivered. 

"The maroon ones." George drawled into her skin, "A classic." 

"Those your favorites, Georgie?" Fred asked from across the room, his voice rasp. 

"No, she's got this black lace thong I'm quite fond of." George mumbled, attention still placed on her nipple. 

She had forgotten about Fred, so lost under George's familiar touch. Stretching her neck, she turned to look behind her. She could feel her mouth hang open. 

Fred was leaned back on the bed, shirtless. One elbow propping himself up. He'd pulled his trousers down to his thighs and was lazily stroking himself. 

"Keep going, Hawthorne. Gimme a show." Fred smirked at her expression, waggled his brows as he lifted his chin -- urging them to continue. 

George needed no further prodding. His fingers went to push aside her knickers, his forefinger and middle finger on the hot flesh of her opening. She moaned as he slowly rubbed up and down, gathering the growing wetness and distributing it through her folds. His lips came up to her neck, where he began to lap and kiss against the base of her throat. Stopping occasionally to nibble at the thin skin. 

His fingers pressed harder, building speed but not yet delving inside. She could feel her slickness increasing, he moved his fingers up to her clitoris. Her hips jerked as he drew light feathery circles over the nub. Her head dropped back with a pant, a ragged breath crawled out. Casting her glance over to Fred across the room, she saw him move from the languid position he was in to sit upright. His fist pumped his cock evenly, he eyed them steadily as he chewed his bottom lip. 

He was stunning. A patchy flush on his cheeks, his eyebrows knitted, a half-lidded gaze focused on George's hand between her thighs. His figure taut, body tense.

One hand came from behind George's neck as she haphazardly gestured across the room, beckoning for Fred. 

"I'm preheated." She joked through her gasping breath. 

Fred smirked, standing to fully remove his pants before crossing the room in his boxers, his erection hanging through the front opening. 

George's pressure on her clit was consistent, a heat building at her hips that slowly started to emanate towards her stomach and down into her thighs. His mouth on her neck came to her pulse, where he nibbled the skin.

Fred stood beside them, watching with intensity as his hand went to pump his cock. 

Her gaze was soft as she raked over Fred. His cock now eye-level. He was fully erect, the head shiny and swollen. Skin so pale and smooth, throbbing veins wrapping the flesh as his hand fisted the length. The long taut member met at his groin with a patch of gingery stubble. 

"Go on, love." George said softly, "He's waiting." 

"It's just like his." Fred smirked. 

Instead of offering a hand, she leant over slightly from George's lap, bringing herself closer to his crotch. She parted her lips, let her tongue hang out as she gave him her mouth. 

George chuckled into her neck, his thumb continued against her clit. The other hand holding her tightly in place on his lap, as her hips started a steady grinding on the front of his trousers. 

Fred stepped forward, closing the distance as he pressed his head into the hot of her waiting mouth. 

"Eager birdie, isn't she?" George uttered, moving his fingers from her clit to her opening. 

She sighed suddenly and the hot breath gathered on Fred's cock, he moaned before sliding another inch of himself into her mouth. She closed her lips around him, forming a tight seal. Letting her tongue swipe at the underside of his erection, she allowed him in further. One hand on the base of his cock, the other on her jaw, Fred's breath was choppy and quick as he stared down at the sight. 

"Dirty birdie, more like." Fred murmured.

George tucked a finger inside, and she moaned -- the sound vibrated through Fred's flesh, as he gasped, tightening the grip on his cock. 

George's index finger slowly slid in and out, while Fred went no farther into her mouth than the first three or four inches of his length. She could hear how aroused she was, George's finger pushing through the wetness. His mouth was suckling lovebites carelessly across her throat. Her hips were moving on their own accord, grinding and twitching with anticipation. The excitement boiled in her stomach, her skin alight with sensation. 

She swatted away Fred's grasp on his cock, replacing his hand with her own. Her grip was even and tight, as she moved her fist in tandem with her mouth. 

"Oh, fuck that's good." Fred dropped his head back, his hair fell loosely over his shoulders. 

She increased in speed and pressure, tightening her mouth around him as she moved to take more of his length. Fred hissed as the hand on his shaft moved to grope his balls. 

"Your mouth feels like heaven." Fred idly groaned.

Recognizing her desire to build her climax, George pressed a second finger into her, increasing the speed and sinking down to the knuckles on his hand. She groaned deeply, eyes clenched shut, while George's thumb grazed over her mound to her clitoris. 

Her hips shook, bucking against George's lap, while Fred allowed both hands to hold her jaw, his fingers went to her hair. Spit dribbled down her lips as Fred was thrusting more and more of his length past her lips, he cursed as he felt the head of his cock jab the spongy flesh at the back of her throat. 

"You close, sweetheart?" George asked, pulling his lips from her neck to focus on her. 

Gorgeous. Unraveling in his lap, skirt pooling at her hips, nipples dark and perked. He had gotten carried away, four mouth-sized bruises along the base of her throat. A glistening strand of saliva trickled down her chin as she bobbed along Fred's cock. 

She groaned an affirmation along Fred's cock, and he hissed.

Her hips bucked with erratic need, the fingers on George's neck clamped tighter, pulling at the hair at his nape. 

"Pull off, mate." George told his brother, Fred looked at him with disdain before pulling his wet cock out of her mouth. 

She gasped for air, the sudden opening of her throat leaving her panting. George pulled her closer into him, the arm holding her hip came to wrap around her shoulders, resting his chin on top of her head as she pressed her cheek into his jumper.

"Come on, darling. Come for me." George crooned, his hand twisted as his fingers probed her g-spot. 

Deftly working the ridged patch of flesh, she cried, her back arched into him as her toes clenched in her socks. Her hips bucked, thighs closing to clamp his hands between them. Her body shook with her release, rivulets of pleasure emanating from her core. George held her while she came, slowly reducing his thrusting until his fingers stilled inside her, before pulling them out. He kissed her temple. 

“My turn.” Fred grinned, releasing his cock from his hand. It fell to slap his thigh. 

George patted the back of her thigh and she stood up slowly, clinging to the front of George’s sweater as her knees trembled. 

“Careful.” George offered softly.

They tipped her back onto the mattress. George made quick work of removing his trousers and jumper, before settling at the head of the bed. He pulled her to rest between his legs. Erection tenting the fabric of his boxers, navy blue in color, she could feel him against the small of her back. 

“You two didn’t match boxers?” She sneered. 

“Didn’t think we’d get this far.” said Fred and George.

She leaned her head back to rest on George’s shoulder, as he brought two hands around to rub up and down her ribcage soothingly. 

“May I?” Fred gestured to her skirt and knickers. 

She nodded once, lifting her hips to allow him to grab the waistband. He slid both off easily, letting his long fingers graze over her hips and thighs, running down her calves, before dropping the clothing to the ground. He sat on the bed, nestled between her legs.

He let his hands slide past each thigh, lips following closely behind as he kissed his way to her pelvis. She was glistening with arousal, her fluids leaking and pooling between the folds at her entrance. The sudden breath between her legs startled her, her hips quivered and she found herself instinctively bringing her knees together. Fred brought both hands to her thighs, urging her legs back apart. 

“Easy, love. It’s just Fred.” George whispered in her ear, kissing the lobe. His hands came up to cup her breasts, palming the flesh. 

Fred slowed his pace as to have her grow accustomed to his presence, his hands gingerly massaging her inner thighs. He ducked his head down, placing kisses on the bottom of the stomach, just below her navel. Never breaking eye contact, watching her every breath for her reaction. She had never felt so vulnerable. So exposed. 

Rough hands moved to pelvis, rubbing back and forth, letting a thumb come up to bump at her opening. She bit her bottom lip and felt a twitch in her hips. Fred felt it, too. He stroked down her inner thighs again, large hands running over her hot skin once more, and bringing his thumb to the base of her wet slit, he kept it there. His mouth kissed it’s way down her bellybutton, over her mound, stopping at the hood of her clitoris. 

His thumb went to rest against her, easily slipping into her sex as her heart fluttered. George’s grip on her tightened, pulling her back into his chest. Reminding her of his presence, reminding her everything was okay. It was just Fred. He trusted his brother with his life, he wouldn’t let Fred do anything she wouldn’t like. 

Fred’s thumb nudged further, in and out of her slickness, his mouth hovering over the top of her pelvis. Fred’s look was blistering. He stared intensely, teeth clamped on his bottom lip as he watched her breathing start to quiver. Letting the flat broad pad of his thumb prod and curl at the insides of her, she felt her hips innately grind back and forth. Hips moving up to reach Fred’s touch, before pressing back to feel the inside of George’s lap. She could feel George’s hardness now locked firmly between the thin layer of cotton and her lower back.

Her breath hitched when Fred dropped his mouth to her slit and flicked a wide stroke across the opening. George kissed her temple, down her cheekbones, across her cheeks, lingering over the line of her jaw. Fred removed his now wet thumb, bringing his other hand to part her folds and kiss between them. She moaned as she felt his soft lips against her core. 

The rocking of her hips increased, now growing eager for Fred’s touch. His lips clamped onto her entrance as his tongue darted out to penetrate her. He licked lavishly, exploring where his thumb just was. Lipping the outer entrance, his nose bumped and nudged into her now throbbing clitoris. 

“How’s she taste, Fred?” George’s voice was sultry and low, his mouth right against her ear. 

“Magnificent. Like the ocean.” Fred mumbled against her. 

A hand moved to rest on top of her mound, holding her in place while she writhed under his touch. The other hand holding her open. Nibbling at the skin and lapping at her fluids, a long groan crawled out from her throat when Fred sped up, growing ravenous. George was unmistakably pulsing his hips, faintly humping her back, his erection desperate for contact. George squeezed her nipples, and she breathily moaned as she tipped her head back. George was looking down at her with a lustful stare. He kissed her agape lips. 

Fred thrust his tongue deeply into her, she surged forward with a groan, back arched. George pulled her back needingly. 

“Is he better than me?” George smirked into her ear. 

“Of course I am!” Fred pulled his lips off with a juicy smack, before bringing a thumb to caress her rear entrance. 

_“Oh fuck!”_ She cried, the tight pucker seizing under his touch. 

Fred’s hand slithered to hold her at her hips, forearm flat against her front. His spit and her juice dripped down to settle in the dip between her two entrances. Fred used his thumb to gather wetness before sliding it to her rear end once more, putting light pressure against the tight opening. She resisted, but Fred pressed on, slipping until his thumb came to the first knuckle inside her. The growing tension in her cleft left her panting, chest heaving, as her cheeks bore down on his thumb, her entire body clenched.

“Sweetheart, you have to relax.” Fred's chin was coated with wetness.

George’s hands moved down to rub her sides back and forth soothingly, he tucked his head into the crook of her neck and he pecked a kiss against her earlobe. 

“I’ve got you, love.” George whispered, “You know what it’s gonna feel like. Breathe.”

Trying to even her breath, she sank back against George’s chest. She realized how tightly her she was contracted over his thumb. Allowing herself to slowly relax, letting Fred’s thumb stretch her. When her breathing had quieted she peered down at Fred, sprawled between her legs. With a quick nod of her head, he started working his thumb back and forth nudging past the top knuckle, caressing the ridges and taut linings of her ass. She whimpered, tucking her head further back into George’s shoulder. 

“Just relax.” George reassured her quietly, he moved one hand from her breast to come down to her engorged clit. 

It was desperate for attention and at his fingertips grazing the bud, her hips jumped and with it; suctioning Fred’s thumb further inside her. She cried out as the new pressure built, her muscles clamped down on his thumb. Rocking her hips to George’s touch, Fred followed suit and began twisting and working his thumb in time to her loose thrusts. George knew exactly how to help her relax, bringing his index and middle finger to pulsate back and forth on her clit, shuttling her back up to release. 

“Give her a lick, won’t ya, Fred?” George offered, watching her slowly start to come undone in his lap. 

Fred eagerly obeyed, tucking his head back down to her cunt, running his hot tongue through the still-wet crevice. A moan escaped her once more, feeling the heat building again in her pelvis and abdomen, her body hurtling towards orgasm. Fred increased his voracity, his teeth and tongue urgent as they savored her inner lips. Her hips rocked faster, George built speed as he started to press firmer into her clitoris. 

Thumb still inside, Fred brought a forefinger to plunge inside her and knead at the thin wall of skin separating her ass and cunt. She saw white lights flash behind her eyes as she came, surging back and forth between the two twins as they continued through her climax. 

Fred was the first to pluck thumb and finger out from her, placing one last kiss on the outside of her folds. George continued loosely rubbing circles on her clit as she rode out the aftershocks, letting her chest rise and fall, before ceasing movement and letting his hand rest on her mound.

Skin alight with energy, she felt an incredible tingle vibrating throughout her veins. Like every nerve in her body had just been triggered, now exposed to the bedroom air. So many different sensations fighting through her body. Her lungs fumbled to get air. 

George nuzzled his nose against the side of her face, “Talk to me, love.” 

“That was incredible.” She managed to sputter out. 

Fred sprawled out to lay properly in the bed, propped atop the pillows by the headboard. His cock was at full mast, upright with unashamed arousal. George moved to lay down, pulling her with him to lay in between their bodies. Her head sank into the pillows, the three of them sandwiched on the mattress, elbows and knees overlapping. She looked to see George’s cock agonizingly engorged, globs of precum sliding down the side of his inner thigh.

“I want you both inside me.” She earnestly revealed, staring up at the ceiling of the dorm. 

Fred and George propped up on their elbows, considering her with matching astoundment. 

“You think you can handle that?” Fred raised a brow speculatively. 

“George has buggered me before. I think I'll be able to relax if it’s him from behind.” 

She turned to George, before twisting to glance at Fred. 

“Are you sure?” George asked, bringing a thumb to trace along her bottom lip.

“I am.” She declared, kissing his thumb as it passed. 

“You heard the lady.” Fred remarked, hand rubbing his erection in preparation. 

George moved to adjust himself on the bed, before grabbing her hips and guiding her to turn, back facing him. She stared at Fred with apprehension, before Fred winked and kissed her nose. 

“You first, Fred.” George called from behind, settling on his side and limply tugging his cock, fingers gliding the beads of precum over his swollen tip.

Fred moved to grab her, throwing her left leg to hook over his hip, opening the space between her legs. Her entrance was now swollen, slickness smattered between her inner thighs. He brought his head to her slit, rubbing his head back and forth to gather moisture. Fred hissed at the heat, before tucking his head past her opening. 

Wedging himself deeper, he sank in steadily and evenly, pushing through the tightness as she groaned from the length. 

She was right. Fred was bigger than George. 

The sensation of being filled felt like it would never stop until his hips came to knock into hers. Fred gritted his teeth as he let out a shaky breath. Grabbing her waist, he pulled her closer to him as she adjusted to the angle. Fred rested his chin on the top of her head as she rested her head into the nook between his neck and chest. She inhaled deeply, the foreign yet exciting smell filling her nose. He started to draw his hips back, pulling out slightly before thrusting back forward, a few more times he pumped with calculated deepness. 

“You’re so fucking tight.” Fred grunted, a small sheen of perspiration building at the crown of his forehead.

She groaned into his chest, her left hand went to wrap around his back, holding his shoulder blade, while her other hand smashed between their chests cupped her breast. One of Fred’s hands was snaked under her neck, the other laying on her waist, guiding her with him. He never pulled himself out entirely, only retreating to allow half of his length to exit before plunging back in. Fred ground his hips into hers, embedding his shaft to the farthest depths of her womb. 

“ _Fuck, Fred_.” She whimpered into his chest as he built an aggressive rhythm, snapping his pelvis sharply with each thrust. 

“Ready?” George’s voice behind her, his chest now hot against her back. His hands went to graze over her asscheeks, massaging the globes. 

She nodded, pulling her head from out of Fred’s chest as she leaned back onto George’s sternum. George’s hands left her skin as she heard the slippery squishing of George dipping his fingers into a jar, before resettling against her. 

“Remember, it’s cold.” He murmured. 

It was. A tingle shot up her spine as George’s fingers pressed through her backside and rested at her rear entrance. The gel was frigid, she cried out as the lubricant settled in her crease. 

“Alright, easy now, love.” George murmured, wriggling a finger back and forth as he parted the tight ring. Fred kept to slow, deep thrusts, his eyes closed as he breathed shallowly through his nose.

Her body shook back and forth against Fred, and George used that motion to help coerce his finger with their established movement. She didn’t resist, allowing his finger to stretch her hole, letting him sidle his way up the entire length. He wiggled the finger in small circles.

“That’s it. So good. Just like before, darling.” George uttered sweetly into her ear.

Pulling out gingerly, his middle finger joining as the two fingers working back through her ass. The pleasure of Fred’s steady filling worked an incredible excitement in her loins, driving her to grind her hips back to meet George’s fingers as they prodded. Her hips gyrated in circles, sensation shaking her from front to back as she panted.

“Shall we try for three or do you think you’re ready?” George was at an exhilarating pace, his two fingers darting steadily, able to drive down to the last knuckles before his palm. 

The last time George fucked her in the ass he had fingered her bum for almost half an hour, working the muscles slowly and carefully while his hand toyed with her clit. He brought her to climax a number of times to ease her nerves, before he finally buggered her. But tonight her skin was like fire, her pelvis thrumming with sensation as the building of tightness and pressure drove her wild for more. She wanted to feel what Fred had done to her earlier, that breathtaking completeness from both holes firing off sensations.

_“I’m ready.”_

Fred slowed his pace, now barely moving as he stopped to a subdued pulse. She keened at the loss of friction.

She heard the slippery squelch of George lubing up his cock, then the cold sensation of him pressing against her back entrance. A shudder ran through her, but she tried not to bare down. A hand came over to adjust the leg she had swung over Fred, opening her even further.

“Easy now.” Fred said, moving down to kiss her forehead. 

She felt the familiar searing of his head bursting through the ring, then the slow rippling drag of her opening for his shaft. She choked on a dry sob.

“You’re doing great, love.” George ground out, “So fucking perfect.”

It was agonizing for George to have to restrain himself to such a slow penetration. Her asshole was hot and clenched tight on his member, and his cock had been painfully erect for the last hour now. He was desperate for the sweltering fervor of her most intimate entrance.

Fred brought his hand to stroke her skin, rubbing her ribs and caressing her hip bones, his pelvis faintly dipping in and out of her, allowing her to grow accustomed to the sensation of his brother. Yet his sluggish momentum left him impatient, willing to be able to fuck her again. 

When it felt like her rear end was about to be split in half, she felt the hot weight of George’s hips finally meeting with the fleshy cheeks of her ass. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she let out a rattled sigh of relief.

“That’s it. So good.” George nibbled the outer shell of her ear. The hand holding his cock, now empty, came to her front to hold the base of her throat.

She saw Fred stare above her head, recognition in his eyes. Even from behind her, she knew that Fred and George were sharing a thought. They gave her a moment to adjust to the sensation of George being fully embedded in her ass, before Fred started to shimmy and find his positioning. With a quick stab, the rest of Fred’s cock sank inside of her, filling her to the brim. 

A quaking cry ripped from her throat as the two burrowed themselves into her, Fred’s eyes rolling into the back of his head, while George hissed loudly through his teeth. The grip Fred had on her hips became aching as the twins’ bodies tensed and jolted under her rigid clenching.

“Fuck! That’s so tight!” Fred heaved.

“You feel so fucking good, love.” George murmured. 

Without warning, the two shifted to move from inside her. She let out another shuddering groan as she felt their shafts twitch and slide from within. They were tentative to find a pace, the three struggling to grind against each other in search of the right angle. The fullness was heart-stopping, she felt beads of sweat roll down her temple as her toes curled. 

Fred groaned as he thrust himself to the hilt, reveling as she tightened around him, who then tightened around George, who buried deeper into her ass in response. The twins eventually found a rhythm between each other, one lead while the other followed. George would penetrate from the back, and upon pulling out, Fred would delve in and fill the relief left behind. Every so often one would stagger, and they’d both impale the wall separating her womb and ass, and she could feel as the heads of their shafts jabbed together, and all three would groan and cry out. 

George’s right hand moved to snake under her side to wrap around her stomach, his arm now pinned between the mattress. The result was a pocket of space now cleared between her and Fred’s stomachs, which Fred used to widen his hip movements, his plunges driving deeper with each jerk. This drove her mad, the junction between her legs overloaded as Fred humped with growing ferverency.  
  


“Fuck, I’m gonna come.” Fred mumbled through clenched teeth, a crimson glow to his cheeks, ginger hair matted to his now sweaty forehead.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” George warned from behind, his free left hand moved from being flat against her chest to rub at her chin.

He tilted her head back, angling her to look at him. 

“Talk to me, love.” George’s voice was weak and breathy, he was on the verge of coming too. Desperately so. 

“I’m close.” She choked out, trembling to find the air to speak, “Just a little more.”

George brought his hand from her face to squeeze between her and Fred, finding her neglected clit. She gasped as he brought two fingers to the delicate button, swirling the wetness around the sheath. His hand was firm and steady, his thrusting from behind growing a little erratic and needy, while Fred kept at his darting pace pounding into her cunt, slamming against the back of her womb. 

Vibrating her clit between his fingers, he pressed harder into the skin as the twins feverishly thrusted away, no longer in sync, just desperate for release. 

“Please, I’m so fucking close.” George was begging through sighs and grunts, “We’re right here. Come for us, love. We need you to come.”

George felt her clit pulse from under him, and her back arched sharply, pushing her breasts into Fred, the two of them surging forward to bottom out inside her. 

“Fuck! I’m c-” Her chest was heaving, “I’m coming!”

Her cunt clenched like a vise around them, the twins groaned with need.

“ _Fred Weasley, don’t you dare come inside her._ ” George snapped, moving the hand from her clit to grab at her middle.

George pulled her back towards him sharply; Fred’s cock slipped out with not a second to spare, he let out a throaty groan as milky ropes of his come splattered the front of her mons. Fred moved a hand quickly to limply pump himself, ejaculation spurting out to land on the front of her belly. George rested his forehead onto the back of her shoulder as he came with a hiss, shooting his seed deeply into her behind. His arms came around cross over her breasts, holding her deeply as he slowly rocked them both through their release. 

The trio laid on George’s mattress, desperately gasping for breath while their chests heaved. All three sticky between their legs, and damp everywhere else. The boys had long gingery hairs smattered with sweat stuck to their foreheads and necks, while the bruises on her hips and throat would surely deepen with color as the night went on. George rolled to reach for his wand on the bedside table, swinging it to open the windows. A chilly breeze blew through, fanning out the hot sticky air and dimpling goosebumps on their skin. 

  
  
  


\-- --

  
  


The next morning she skipped breakfast, instead vying for a long and steamy shower to rinse of the residual debauchery she felt clinging to her skin. She didn’t see much of Fred and George during her day, having snuck out in the morning before anyone had woken up. She had a lot of catching up to do since her weekend had gotten away from her, when she trudged up to her dorm and recognized Pigwidgeon tapping at her window. Letting the quirky little bird in, he dropped a small note on her bed before zooming back out. 

It was a small letter, no larger than a card. Opening it, she recognized the scrawling penmanship to be Fred’s. 

_“If you ever want to see your lacy maroon bra ever again, wear that black thong next time and maybe I’ll be willing to make a trade.”_

  
  
  



End file.
